Passing like Ships in the Night
by Vulpes Rei
Summary: Fred Weasley must figure out how to accept, face, and understand his growing admiration for his fellow Quidditch player, Oliver Wood.
1. Introduction

Hello! I'm so glad that you have stumbled across my story. I am aware this first chapter is short, but more has written and will be put up as soon as it is beta'd and (hopefully) once there is some positive interest in the story. I have a lot planned for these two; I'm looking forward to the rest of this, to see how everything unfolds!

Disclaimer: First, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. End of story. Second, this story is gay, meaning that there is homosexual-ness, between two male characters. If you are squicked by that sort of thing…then why in the world are you reading fanfiction in the first place?

This story is dedicated in memory of all those who died in the war against Voldemort. Let us not forget the past, nor forget those days when things were still good and happy at Hogwarts.

The setting is in the midst of the third book. The italicized sections are direct quotes from the text of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Enjoy!

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_Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field. _

_"This is our last change -- _my _last chance -- to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it. _

_"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world -- injuries -- then the tournament getting called off last year..." Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the _best -- ruddy -- team -- in -- the -- school," _he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye._

_"We've got three _superb _Chasers."_

_Wood pointed at Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell. _

_"We've got two _unbeatable _Beaters."_

_"Stop it Oliver, your embarrassing us," said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush._

Visible through the fake blush, a rosy, crimson tinge bloomed and worked its way across Fred Weasley's face. It was hastily subdued as Fred turned away to glance quickly out the window, into the blustery fall afternoon. A bunch of great, ominous grey clouds littered the horizon, so there was not much to see, but the mere action of glancing was distraction enough. The unexpected complement, thought directed at him and his brother, and its accompanying gaze of admiration had caught Fred off guard. If Oliver were to heed any notion of the thoughts that were now racing through the red-head's mind, the least Fred could expect was blushing. More likely, Oliver would be severely disturbed by the very prospect of such unorthodox things. Fred himself was fairly disturbed at some of the prospects his mind was now presenting. Where on earth had this sudden bout of infatuation come from?

George Weasley chose this particular moment to elbow his brother none too kindly in the side. Fred glared, and shoved him right back, disregarding the gravity of the moment. It had probably been good of George to draw Fred back to the current here and now, because they all knew this speech was important to Oliver at least and probably most of all. And if it was important to Oliver, Fred would probably do well to be paying attention.

_"Amd we've got a Seeker who has _never failed to win us a match!" _Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought._

_"We thing you're very good too, Oliver," said George._

_"Spanking good Keeper," said Fred._

How he meant that, even Fred himself was not quite sure. The words had just sort of fallen out of his mouth. Sometimes, things just tended to happen that way. It was not in any way or form an attempt to draw Oliver's attention back towards himself after the captain's overt and sincere complement which had been directed at Harry.

_"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing..."_

_Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic. _

_"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred. _

He tried his best to look especially sympathetic, as opposed to merely distracted.

_"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina._

_"Defiantly," said Harry. _

Oliver then delved into what the team was going to be practicing that evening. A large chart had been spread across the center table, depicting a particularly complex maneuver. The Slytherin players were marked as green Xs, and the Gryffindor players were represented by seven small, red Os laid out in formation upon the two dimensional Quidditch field. With a tap of his wand, Oliver directed the symbols to begin darting across the canvas in complex arrangements. His long winded explanation extended to cover what new tactics he would like to employ for much of the season.

Fred attempted to give the diagrams his undivided attention, but despite his own best efforts and the more forceful ones of his darling brother, Fred's attention remained severely divided for the rest of practice. While the team was out flying and running drills in the chilly evening air, silly thoughts crossed his mind. He began to wish that he had been more enthusiastic, or been more encouraging towards Oliver. Fred was annoyed that it had been Harry who had gotten in the last word of encouragement, and not himself. He wondered if there was any more he could do to help improve the captain's mood; He wished wistfully that there was something more he could do, beyond just being an unbeatable beater.

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	2. A Meeting

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I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling.

Enjoy!

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Over the next few weeks, during practices, around the common room and at meals, Fred found it increasingly difficult to pay close attention to their esteemed Quidditch captain for too long without suffering some minor discomfort of either the mental or physical sort. Fred came quickly to the realization that his infatuation was not the type to just leave him be after a certain amount of time. This infatuation was one of those rather annoying ones that stick with you and become ever more volatile and unmanageable, refusing to keep quiet until they are acknowledged and allowed to manifest themselves.

Fred was indeed infatuated with the driven, brilliant Oliver Wood. Fred did not often see Oliver between Quidditch practices, and so he was presented with a limited number of chances to be alone with the other, or to make a fool of himself. In his mind, Fred saw this as a mixed blessing. The chance to meet face to face with his infatuation did eventually present itself, just weeks later on All Hallows Eve.

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It was Halloween, and Fred, George, and Lee Jordan meant to mark this momentous occasion with as much raucous uproar as possible. This year, Halloween had the fortune of falling on the same Saturday as the first Hogsmeade visit. The trio began with a mandatory raid of Zonko's Joke Shop, where they collected all their necessary supplies for mischief making, and then, lead by Fred, they heading up the road to stake out prime haunting grounds at the Shrieking Shack. The boys settled into a semi secluded area that doubled as a prime vantage point from which to toss sticks, stones, and stink bombs at wary students who came to view the most haunted building in Britain.

This was a brilliant idea in theory, concocted by none other than Fred himself; however, it did not take into account how many students would not bother going up to the Shrieking Shack. Those with enough nerve to come gander at the shack had too much nerve to be frightened by sticks and stink bombs, while those who would have been easily frightened stayed behind in town. The cold weather and looming threat of Sirius Black did more than anything else to discourage students from falling into the clever trap, much to the disappointment of the three.

George and Jordan quickly became bored with the sport, or lack there of.

"Fred," began George, with reserved exasperation, "Why are we up here?"

"We are up here to scare the wee third years that are going to come visit the Shrieking Shack, expecting to see ghosts."

"Fred. The wee third years are all down in town, at the Three Broomsticks, drinking our butterbeer. Why are we up here? This is ridiculous. There isn't a soul around."

"Except for the undead…"muttered Lee Jordan ominously, as he rubbed his shoulders in a futile attempt to keep warm.

"That's the point," smirked Fred superiorly, as if he had beaten the other two at some test of wits, "They will come to see ghosts, and we cannot disappoint them!"

George sighed, and cast a downtrodden glace in Jordan's direction, as if to say, "And they say I am the incorrigible one?"

He knew that all that most-haunting-building-in-Britain stuff was total codswallop better than most, but Fred was not about to miss a grand opportunity to scare those who were not so well informed. The lack of other students was the only thing that lay between him and victory. He was not about to give up so easily.

After a few more long minutes of standing up on the ridge in the howling autumn wind, George was sick of waiting around, wasting precious holiday. He and Jordan left Fred and his ego in favor of cozier and perhaps more populated accommodations.

And so it was thus that Fred Weasley was left by himself, sitting up on the ridge overlooking the Shrieking Shack on that cold day in late October, with a large supply of dung bombs and a diminishing supply of sticks. Fred kept throwing the sticks up at the remaining leaves and acorns that hung from the bare branches of a distant oak tree, in a futile attempt to knock them down. He would never understand why he was so stubborn about such stupid things. It was plain as day that George was right. Nobody in their right mind would venture up to the shack on such a frigid, blustery day, except for himself and his cockamamie schemes.

Fred did not worry too much more about it. He was certain he would be right sometime in the near future. The wind blew straight through his winter robes and the thick maroon sweater underneath, chilling him to the bone. Just as he was moving to stand up head back to town, he heard a stick snap somewhere out in the woods behind him. Fred froze, before glancing around frantically, looking for the sound's source. The woods appeared to be empty. He reminded himself timidly that there were no ghosts in the forest.

After a few nervous moments, Fred was forced to laugh aloud at his own stupidity. He would bet two sickles, if he had two sickles left over from their earlier shopping binge at Zonko's, that it was George and Lee out there in the woods, trying to catch him off guard with his own clever trick. The red head pulled his robes tighter around his body, and began tromping off into the forest in the direction of the sound. About fifty meters out, he spotted a figure hunched over beside a tree, turned away from him. And George always used to be so good at hide-and-seek, Fred mused to himself. Then he crouched down, and began to slowly move towards the figure who he thought was his brother, being careful to keep out of sight whenever possible behind the spars trees. He pulled out his wand, a clever jinx at the ready.

"_Cachinno Calcaris!"_ Shouted Fred, when he came close enough. The distant figure collapsed on to the forest floor in a fit of mirth, rolling back and forth, completely overcome with laughter. Fred ran up, only to find that the boy rolling around in the leaves was not his brother at all. It was none other than the Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood. The red-head stood, totally bewildered as Oliver laughed at him, unsure how to respond to such a discovery. Noting that his object of affection was getting all covered in mud and leaves, he quickly muttered the counter-jinx.

Oliver's convulsions immediately ceased, and as he lay on the ground, panting quietly, and looking up at the unexpected Wesley, he felt rather awkward. Fred was quick to offer a hand and help him up. Oliver grabbed it, thankful to be removed from his previous position.

"I'm sorry about that, Oliver," Fred began carefully, as he pulled the older boy to his feet. "I thought you were my brother."

"Well, that explains it," Oliver mused, with a none-too-subtle hint of sarcasm. "Though I must say, that was a good spell. It has been a while since I've laughed that hard…Actually, I'm not sure I ever have" Oliver shot Fred a smile, and then began the difficult task of brushing all the accumulated leaves and dirt from his clothes.

"Really, you don't know that one? It's elementary, m'dear, merely a more extreme take on the average third year cheering charm." Fred could have whacked himself in the forehead. He was well aware that he sounded more pompous that Percy on the day he'd received his Head Boy badge. He then plastered a goofy smile on his face and made disapproving motions in a delayed attempt to make a joke of his own thoughtless big-headed-ness. Thankfully, it worked. Oliver chuckled at what he'd assumed was meant to be a fair Percy impersonation

Fred was never quite sure how to deal with Wood's complements; the pesky little buggers always managed to catch him off guard. Oliver's unexpected appearance alone had done an amazing job of catching the louder Wesley twin off guard. It left Fred feeling quite lost and bewildered as to where to lead the conversation. All day, Fred's thoughts had been firmly set upon the day's planned mischief. Now, his brother had abandoned him to his own devices, so his thoughts had been bound to go astray towards more bothersome modes of thought anyway, and now this. Fred felt he that his only option was to make due with the unexpected company and his severely fortunate situation. If only he could manage to think up a plausible way to take advantage of the situation, and quickly!

A silence lengthened between them as Oliver crouched down to collect the books that were strewn across the ground. Fred hated silences. "If you don't mind me asking, Oliver, why in the world are you out here in the forest by yourself? It really is not safe, what with the dementors lurking around, the loose serial murder in the area, and you know, those sorts of things." He waved his hand matter-of-factly, resisting the urge to do impersonations of lurking dementors.

"I come out here to study," Oliver threw his red-and-gold Gryffindor scarf back over his shoulder, as it had fallen down, and turned to get into a better position in order to get leverage on his large Herbology and Transfiguration textbooks as he attempted to shove them all back into his bag. "I've always thought the library's too stuffy and crowded. The demeanors _have_ been a bit of a nuisance. I can't get outside of the grounds with them lurking around." Fed up with shoving, Oliver pulled out his wand and charmed the books to go into the bag on their own, and continued his previous train of thought. "I like being out in the open air and sunlight whenever I can be. It's not quite as good as Quidditch, being out here, but it's better than being locked up in that school all hours of the day and night."

Fred sat down beside Oliver, leaning his back against the large tree. The red-head felt he could not agree more. Hogwarts was wonderful and all, but it could indeed feel awfully confining. "Seems to me like you are just itching to get out," a sly smile crossed the red-haired boy's face. "If you wanted to, Oliver, you're always welcome to venture out with me, George, and Lee. We know more passages in and out of that place than anybody. "

"I don't fancy the idea of getting caught causing mischief, Fred. I am Quidditch captain, and in my seventh year. There is a good bit of responsibility that goes along with that. I cannot have McGonagall breathing down my throat…" Oliver's expression looked a bit downtrodden, as if he would indeed love to take Fred up on the offer, but felt too burdened by his sense of responsibility. It seemed strange, though; Oliver had never been one to let McGonagall intimidate him before.

Fred was genuinely surprised by how troubled Wood seemed, so early in the year. "Oliver, this might sound a bit off coming from me, but are you sure everything is alright?"

"Yeah, Fred, everything is just wonderful. I'm in my seventh year of school, and I am having more difficulty than ever keeping up with the loads of course work we have been getting. I'm practically an adult, and everyone expects me to know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I know what I want to do; I want to play Quidditch. It is all I've ever wanted to do, but I am also aware that I could never be good enough to go anywhere with it. My dad's fine with the idea, by my Mum won't hear it, nor will McGonagall. They both think I could and should do something better, more worthwhile, but I say it's all codswallop. Quidditch is the best thing there is, and if I get to play after I get out of here, I would want nothing more from life."

Fred nodded slowly. He always knew Oliver to be an emotional Quiddich captian, and so he could understand, but he had never actually seen this particular, personal side of his friend. Fred attempted to put on his most inspirational and supportive face. "You are excellent at Quidditch, Oliver! Don't let McGonagall or your Mum get you down. You're the best Keeper at this place or anywhere, and I do not want to hear you dare deny it or argue otherwise. I may then be forced to lay some more nasty magic on you." Fred waved the wand that was still in his hand in Oliver's direction menacingly, to emphasis his point, but did so with an endearing smile. "Secondly, I'm only in my fifth year, so I have not had to think about all this important stuff quite yet, but I can assure that when I do, my Mum and Dad will never approval. If they did, I'd know instantly that I'd need to pick something new. You have talent, and it would be a shame to let anyone convince you that you should let it all go to waste for some impressive career at the ministry. The ministry is not all that it is cut out to be, anyhow. My dad works there, and the only reason he likes it is that he gets to mess around with Muggle stuff. Otherwise, he'd be totally miserable." Fred stopped talking, afraid that if he continued, there would be bad consequences.

Oliver listened, but did not respond right away. He was looking out into the depths of the forest. A flock of bird flew overhead, making enough of a racket to fill the second silence between them. It was apparent that something else was occupying a significant number of the thoughts flitting around underneath that handsome head of auburn hair, beyond just school and Quidditch. Oliver looked so brilliant, lost in thought. Fred exhaled, frustrated both by Oliver's lack of response, and at his own thoughts. He had never been very good at helping out other people with things like this. What more could he say to cheer Oliver up? His brain was working in overdrive, trying to figure that one out. Fred wanted to sound sympathetic, kind, witty, and intelligent. He wanted Oliver to be so impressed that they'd make out right there on the spot. Fred could see all of this working out just perfectly in his mind...but in reality, the silence between them was growing longer and more awkward by the moment. Why didn't Oliver say anything? Fred wondered if he had said something wrong. "You seem so gloomy, Oliver. You can't be this down already! The term just started a few weeks ago! I really think that another cheering charm would do you some good."

"Thanks for the offer, but I really ought to be getting back to school, to get some work done. Otherwise, these N.E.W.T. classes are going to kick my ass." Oliver stood up, lugged his bag onto his shoulder, and began to descend down the hill towards the trail that lead back into Hogsmeade. He waved back at Fred, as an afterthought. "I'll see you later at the feast, then."

Fred stood up quickly to follow, well aware that Wood was more than a little annoyed at him for some indiscernible reason, but he felt like being persistent all the same. Fred jogged to catch up and when he was even with the other boy, he said cautiously, "I ought to head back to town too, before it gets dark. Why don't we go back together?"

"Alright," was Oliver's curt reply. He was clearly still lost within the depths of his own mind and thoughts.

Fred did not push any of the issues further. The walk back to Hogsmeade was made in relative silence. When they reached the Three Broomsticks, Fred gave Oliver a wave, and then entered the pub to find his brother.

Fred had half a mind to go back North of town, to the Hogs Head, where he could actually purchase some real alcohol. He had another half a mind to run out of the bar again and catch up with Oliver, but he attempted neither. He knew that what he truly wanted could not be obtained by either measure. Fred contented himself by moping over his foamy butterbeer, disappointed with the results of the year's first Hogsmeade visit.

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AN: Thank you for reading! This installment was quite a bit longer than the last, but it mostly took me so horribly long to update because I am lazy and forgot to upload it sooner... I have excuses, but they are not very good. Sorry. I will try to do better with the next chapter!

Please review. See the purple button down there? Take the extra minute to click on it and leave me some feedback. I do not mind if you hated it, you loved it, you thought it was boring...Or if you just want to say hey. I know I have readers, because of the nifty little things called hit counters. It saddens me when I have so many hits, and so few reviews...

Much Love!

Vulpes


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